Bella Undercover
by giada-marsielle
Summary: Bella is a different sort of assassin - she's virtually invincible. But there are secrets behind her secrets, and the family who is desperate to save her might be exactly what she never knew she needed - or wanted. Canon, snark, drama, some citrus.
1. Read Me First

Ok, so I have to say it – I'm a total douchebag.

I've lured you here with a teaser and a 'real' chapter one, completely intending to go one direction with this story. Then it left me. Poof, vamoose, evaporated, whatever the fuck you want to call it. It's gone.

**HOWEVER…**

A new, fairly similar story deposited itself into my dysfunctional brain, and I almost wept with joy. Unfortunately, Professor Cullen will not be making an appearance, but Spyward will.

So… that being said, if you're one of the ten people who have favorited this, don't hate me. What you're about to read is what has been eating at my mind for the last month or so, and it's been a pretty painful labor of… well, maybe not *love*, per se, but something, definitely.

All I ask is that you be gentle. Please. 


	2. Prologue

Prologue

_1975_

As I stood over my father's open grave, I felt the last subtle braces of my childhood fall behind me.

I had been training for this day, the day when I would take over for my hero figure, but I did not count on it coming so soon. I assumed that I had more time – more time to focus on what I wanted, as opposed to what _they _wanted. More time to act like an idiot. More time to be negligent. More time to be myself, without limits or obligations or the head of the Mafioso looking over my shoulder at every little thing I did.

But here I stood, staring down into an open pit that contained nothing more than a steel vault, which cradled a highly polished mahogany and brass casket that in turn swaddled the remains of a man who no longer existed. Although, according to the great governments of the United States, Britain and Italy, he never did. Flying under the radar was what he did, what he excelled at.

It was what made him such an excellent assassin.

My father was the leader of the Assassini Virtuosi, the 'elimination' portion of an immensely large Italian organization known as the Volturi. He was, to anyone's knowledge, the best assassin in the world. So, as I stood at the edge of his precipice, I puzzled over how baffling it was to me that he was beaten at his own game. I had been thinking this over repeatedly since his death a week and a half ago. What could have possibly happened, that would have made him lose his concentration in a situation where he absolutely ruled? He was a master in the art of killing, and there was no reason in my mind why he should be lying six feet below me now, at 56 years of age in black silk Armani, clutching his mother's rosary to his chest. Someone had pulled one over on him in the most monumental manner. It had to have been backhanded and very, very clever to have fooled my father. I had learned everything I knew from him – as young as I still was, I knew what it would take to kill me, and it wouldn't be easy. That man had been on an entirely different, much higher level, and I couldn't imagine what on earth had happened that night in Washington State that lead to his death. In my mind, someone had cheated. Hard. And as I watched various members of the Virtuosi and the Volutri proper come forward to pay their last respects, I resolved that it would be the last accomplishment that whomever had done this would know. They would pay, and they would pay dearly.

A small, rough hum sounded beside me. I instantly recognized it as Marcus, my father's right hand man. He had a way about him that was quiet and oddly comforting to me, which might have been because of the fact that he was almost an uncle, more than a staff member and my father's closest confidant. His manner was always reserved and very hushed, which I knew had been preferred. I glanced up from the hole in the ground in front of me to meet bloodshot eyes of obsidian ringed by gold. The five words he spoke next catapulted me into my life's obsession –

"I know who did it."

I could practically feel my pupils dilate as the adrenaline pumped through my system. Everything around me disappeared – the people, garbed in black and grey; the lush, rolling hills of the Italian winery that provided cover for our operation; the sun, the wind, e_verything _faded as my vision hazed into red and my muscles contracted. I began to turn towards Marcus' face, to demand the answer, when the priest stepped forward, prayer book in hand.

"Let us pray, as we remember the life of Charles Swan, the elder." He bowed his head, and without conscious thought I automatically did the same. "O God, by Your mercy rest is given to the souls of the faithful…"


	3. I: Weird Vibes

A/N: No Beta on this one. SM owns, and if you don't know this by now you need to go back and actually *read* Twilight... just saying.

Sing along to 'Ain't No Rest for the Wicked' by Cage the Elephant; 'Dance Wiv Me' by Dizzee

_BPOV – present day_

The dull smacking thud of taped flesh punching bare skin was a comfort to me. I welcomed the auditory evidence of our sparring almost as much as I did the burn of my muscles and the scent of the rubberized flooring. This sort of session usually left me energized and ready to take on the world, and today was no different. Two other pairs were present in the large field house, and as our intensity increased, they stood aside to give us more space. We had been going at it for close to twenty minutes now, and my older brother was beginning to show a bit of wear. I smiled inwardly, knowing that just a little more time and he'd be done. And I would win. Again.

"Come on, you pussy. I know you can do better than that." I so enjoyed ribbing him on. He always reacted so nicely. Predictable was James' fucking middle name. I enjoyed that, too. And it wasn't that he was a poor fighter… not at all. It was just that we had fought together a few times too many.

He glared up at me, crouched in a stance that would make any defensive American football player proud. One hand to the floor, elbow to knee, fingers barely touching the rubber. I continued to bounce on the balls of my feet, shifting my weight from side to side. When we first began sparring together, it didn't take me long to realize that I could keep him off balance by refusing to settle in any one 'ready' position. I could see the irritation flashing in his eyes as he was debating his response. I grinned, knowing that he had nothing on me, never did, and I could tell by the twitch of his muscles that he had decided to forego the shit-talking and just go with it. The music blaring over the speakers caught my attention and I smiled widely now, not able to resist egging him on further.

"Come on Jimmy… dance with me!"

That did it. He sprung forward with all the fierce beauty of a dangerous cat, intent on just making the obvious tackle. Boy had been watching way too much ESPN lately.

I dodged him easily, dancing to the left and hooking my right elbow around his neck just enough to swing myself upon his back. I wrapped my left arm around the top of his head and grabbed his newly shorn locks, just hard enough to get his attention. I wasn't looking to break his neck, not today.

He growled, pissed off, and reached behind me to grab my shirt. He'd tried to flip me over his head so many times, it was almost expected, but he completely threw me off, literally, when he suddenly changed direction and brought his arms down, reached for my right hand with his left, grabbed the right side of my pants, and slung me sideways off of him and halfway across the floor. _Fuck. _I wouldn't have been pissed, except that rubber fucking _burns _when you slide on it, and I now had a nice big red skid mark on my right hip.

"For fuck's sake, James, did you have to give me rubber burn?" I rolled onto my belly and pushed up off the floor, rolling my shoulders and examining the mark on my side.

"Who's the pussy now, _sis_?" It was half-sneer, and his pride over that last little maneuver was just this side of irritating enough. I felt my eyes involuntarily tighten into slits, and I was ready to just let loose and fucking bash his head in when the door to the gymnasium flew open, crashing against the wall. My father entered; no expression on his face but determination in every step. Everyone who had been watching James and I picked up where they left off and the huge room was again filled with the rhythmic sounds of fighting. Charlie spared no glance for any of them, choosing instead to continue in a bee line towards us. He barely glanced at James, focusing instead on me. I knew what he wanted before he even told me, and I could feel myself tense in anticipation. A new assignment. And a new assignment meant only one thing - someone new to kill.

"Bella, come with me. James, go clean up and meet us in ten."

I glanced over to see my brother nod obediently as he turned to gather his things and head for the male shower area. I moved toward the gymnasium doors, my father already halfway there and not bothering to check whether or not I followed him. He knew that I would. The blood was rushing through my head and I could hear its steady beat in my ears. Usually, I did not react like this until I was in place and ready to complete my assignment, but I suspected that the adrenaline from sparring combined with the tense vibes I was getting off of Charlie were heightening my awareness even more than usual. I had always been able to sense these things about people – their emotions, their train of thought, even. I knew exactly what Charlie wanted, and it wasn't because this sort of interaction was habitual for us, although it was. I just _knew_.

I followed Charlie across the grassy field that separated the field house from the rest of the complex. The house in which we lived was a monstrosity, its oldest parts dating back to the early 16th century. It had been left to Charlie from his father, a man I had never met and that Charlie rarely spoke of. He had died long before I was born, and it was an area where I was content to let sleeping dogs lie, as they say. The grounds that the house sat on were extensive, and if you had put me on the gravel drive and told me to find my way to Exeter, or even Cullompton, for that matter, I wouldn't have had a clue. I excelled at what I did as surely as the sun rose in the east, but Charlie had always required that I be kept ignorant of exactly where we resided. I knew we were in Dover, as I knew the towns we travelled from were located there, but I did not know exactly where. It was fairly frustrating, and I had always had a sneaking suspicion that Charlie's purposes were not the reasons he always gave me.

I shook of the feeling of unease that was tempering my hyperawareness of the new situation I was about to be thrust into. I would need all my faculties about me for any assignment, but I had a feeling that this was going to be something different. I continued to follow Charlie in silence, having caught up to him in the yard and now slipped silently behind him though closing doors and winding, drafty hallways. He had chosen to make his offices in the oldest part of the house, and as I shivered I thought that he had probably made a pretty good choice in that. No one would desire to be in this part of the mansion without good reason. Cold in winter, hot in summer, and just generally all-around unpleasant, it was.

I slid through the last doorway and into Charlie's study. A fire had been lit to ward off the cool air that still hung about this early in May, and I quickly moved to stand in front of it. The breeze outside had cooled the sweat on my skin and I was fairly shivering at that point from the sudden temperature change. Charlie still had not uttered a sound since we left the field house, and even now he remained silent as he stepped around to the massive, ornately carved cherry wood desk. It, too, had belonged to his father, and was one of the few items that had made the trip from Italy back to England with him when he left the Volturi's main operation. I had always heard stories about the beauty of the Emilia-Romagna region and the vineyards that disguised the shady operations of our mother organization, but had never been. Charlie had left under mysterious circumstances long ago, and had not returned since. As he was still bending to the will of the Volturi superiors, I could only assume that whatever it was had not been a falling out of any sort. I settled myself into one of the sumptuous armchairs stationed near the fireplace, prepared to wait my father out. He was a quiet, contemplative man, and would only speak when he was ready. I had learned at a very early age to have patience with him. I feigned examining my nails while I waited for him to speak, the anticipation still thrumming through me. I was still practically vibrating with it, although outwardly I knew it wouldn't be noticeable.

I got no joy out of killing, specifically. It did not make me overly happy to watch the life fade from someone's eyes, or the inevitable flurry of emotions that crossed their faces as they realized what was happening. It was more that I had accomplished the single thing I was good at, and it was an almost orgasmic feeling for me. Stress relief, in its own way. And I knew that the stress was of my own making, when I would prepare to go in and perform the way I had been taught to, but the overwhelming feeling of relief was no less welcome.

The sound of a thick, heavy folder hitting the desk brought my attention back to the present and I looked up to see Charlie opening it, arranging the sheets of paper inside so that they were perfectly stacked and sorted. I stood from my comfortable position on the soft cushions and made my way to the much less pleasant wooden chairs that immediately faced the desk. They were the same cherry wood as the larger piece of furniture, and about as comfortable. I sat down on the edge of the seat, posture rigid and hands folded demurely in front of me. My old governess, Kate, would have an apoplexy if she caught me sitting in front of Charlie in any other position. He did not necessarily require that I behave that way, but she certainly did.

Charlie unceremoniously slid the open folder across the desk and turned it so the text faced me. The first page of the file resembled something like a cover letter, as did most files I received. Usually, the letter outlined my assignment in very basic terms – name, location, and all the other pertinent details I would require. This one was different, however. It was worn from much handling, the edges of it beginning to curl. There were marks in the paper where it had been folded and unfolded many times, and when I smoothed my hand over it to iron out the page, it had an almost fabric-like quality to it that came from years of wear. I read the list – all names, some crossed out, others noted in Charlie's carefully neat handwriting in different shades of ink. Several pencil marks were all but faded. The list read thusly:

Clark Platt – 1978

Lois Platt – 1978

Renée Platt – 1993 (Phil Dwyer - same.)

Esme Platt

And then, under the typed names came a handwritten list, not new, but not the same age as the paper, either:

Carlisle Cullen

Emmett Cullen - Iraq, 2007

Alice Cullen

Edward Masen

I scrunched my nose as I stared at the laundry list before me. "Really, Charlie? All these at once? That's new."

Charlie exhaled. If I thought I had any choice in the matter, I would have wondered whether he had been anticipating my refusal of his list. "I've already taken care of at least half. Well, except the Marine. I had to pull strings on that one, but it worked out."

Yeesh. I knew Charlie had connections, but damn.

"At any rate, you'll be travelling to the US for this one." He pulled the cover sheet up, revealing the second, much more recent page. "San Diego. Your flight has been arranged for tonight and you will be picked up tomorrow morning by Carlisle Cullen."

"Really? That's interesting." I'd never had to make friendly with a target before. Well, not like this, anyway. "So I assume this is going to take a bit of time then, isn't it?"

"Right. You'll be staying in the Cullen household, under the pretense of completing an assignment for Carlisle. He has called and requested your services in regards to his nephew, Edward Masen." He flipped the first page back and pointed to the last name on the list. "Carlisle fears for his position in the family. Believes Edward is scheming to take over, some rubbish along those lines. But you, my girl," he rubbed his hands together vigorously, obviously ecstatic about something, "You are going to solve his problem, permanently. When you're through, there won't be a family to worry about."

Closing the folder softly and sliding it off the desk and into my lap, I bit my lip and studied Charlie carefully. It was almost as if this were some grand joke to him, like he was about to experience the satisfaction of a lifetime. It felt off, which was strange, because I'd never experienced anything like this before an assignment. I didn't like it.

"What's this really about, Charlie, hmm? Why am I all of a sudden taking out an entire family, as opposed to a single strategic target? Why not just eliminate this Edward Masen and call it a day?" It wasn't that I was feeling any sort of desire to loiter over this, but it just struck me as being a little too personal, from the vibes I was getting off my father. He never acted like this. Ever.

"Who are you to question my actions, girl? I, who have cared for you and made sure you've had every need seen to? Where would you be without me today?" I continued to glare at him, having long grown tired of him lording his 'generosity' over me as if I were some untried 12-year-old lass. When he saw that I was not going to cower and back down, he relented with a sigh. "If you must know, Isabella, this family has a particular desire to see each and every one of us dead. It's merely a matter of getting to them before they can get to us." He leaned back in his giant leather office chair, hands folded across his belly. He quirked an eyebrow, something he did when he was feeling particularly patronizing. "Any other questions, child?"

I rose, slapping the edge of the folder against his desk in an absent gesture. "Nope. Thanks for the info, Charlie."

I heard his undignified snort as I headed out the door. He _hated _it when I called him Charlie.

*****

I nearly ran straight into James as I left Charlie's offices. I should have heard him coming a mile away, as sensitive as my hearing was, but I was preoccupied with my conversation with Charlie. I raised my hands in a defensive gesture, and James slowed me by grabbing my elbows. The heavy manila file was wedged between us and I immediately stepped back to support it with two hands and keep the unbound contents from flying everywhere. I looked up, and for once wasn't fazed by the snarky smirk on James' face.

"Must be some BFD for you to be that distracted, wee one." He was looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to take the bait. I was still mulling everything over and not really paying attention, simply focusing on getting to my rooms so I could prepare to leave as soon as possible.

"Yeah, it is. Listen, I have to go. Try not to get into too much trouble while I'm gone, will you?" I patted his arm and sidestepped around him, looking back over my shoulder. "See you."

He raised his hand halfway, looking slightly confused. "See you."

*****

My rooms were situated in a new part of the mansion, probably as far away from Charlie's quarters as possible. It took me a good five minutes to get there, and that was with keeping my eyes cast down and walking with extreme purpose. I did not bother to open the file again, preferring to wait until I was in the air so that I could clear my mind and truly focus on the information. I was so keyed up, that I knew I would not sleep for much of the twelve-hour flight. Upon entering my chambers, I tossed the folder onto the marble-topped table I liked to use as my desk. The rose colored stone, with its veins of green and grey, was probably my favorite piece of furniture in the entire suite, aside from my bed. I had decorated my sitting area around the piece, and so while the walls were a calming shade of earthy brown, the rest of the room had touches of the pink and green I so loved. Girly? Sure. But the way I saw it, I didn't have much of a life outside these walls, so I should be able to decorate my world as I saw fit. I crossed the room now and stepped through the large double doorway into my bedroom. This room was slightly less visitor-friendly than the outer room, what with my music collection and various accoutrements strewn here and there. A scarred black Steinway dominated the area to the right of the doorway, bathing in the sunny warmth that the bank of reinforced French doors provided. It was my most prized possession, and I couldn't resist taking just a moment to walk over and run my fingers along its ivory keys. The low thrum of hammers hitting strings never failed to soothe me, and it was what I needed right now. Biting my lip, I debated whether or not I had a minute to sit down and tinker. Fuck it. I'd only take a few minutes, and it would do me a world of good.

A half hour later, Kate found me hunched over the keys, pencil gripped between my teeth and fingers working furiously. A new melody was stuck in my head and I couldn't find the right key for it. I had not noticed her come in, and she cleared her throat loudly several times before I completely gave up and tossed the pencil onto the lip of the keyboard. "Hullo, Kate. Charlie send you to light the fire under my arse?"

Kate grinned, leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed. "As a matter of fact, he did not. I heard your frustration and thought I'd come make sure nothing was getting mangled." I grimaced. She was referring to my last, still uncompleted composition, which resulted in several feather pillows getting decimated in my fits of fury when the music wouldn't cooperate.

"I'm sure someone will be on their way shortly, then." I rose from the bench and straightened the sheets I had sloppily scribbled upon. Two pages, fairly good work for the amount of time I'd had. Crossing the room, I passed Kate and headed for my closet. Flipping the light switch on, I went inside and grabbed my luggage off the shelf. Usually I never took more than a change or two of clothing and a few days' supply of my medications, but from the sound of things I was going to be far away for quite a while. I opted instead for my larger rolling suitcase and a locking silver train case. The interior of the silver case was padded, and was generally used when I needed to transport large quantities of my medicine. I checked my watch as I gathered all this, noting that it would be time for my next dose soon. I sighed.

Kate pushed off the doorjamb to come and help me pack. "So, what news from Charlie?" She eyed the larger luggage items. "Seems like it'll be quite a trip."

"Quite. He's sending me to San Diego."

"Oh, how lovely. I've been once, you'll like it there."

I rolled my eyes. Any bystander would think we were chatting casually about a vacation locale, not the future scene of a mass assassination.

"I'm sure I will. Grab my black pants out of that drawer over there, will you?"


	4. II: Assassins on a Plane Part I

**A/N: If you haven't figured it out yet, I'm gonna let you in on a little secret – I'm flying by the seat of my power panties, here. I'm just throwing this stuff up as it comes to me. I mean, I have a plot, sure, and *something* resembling an outline, but I'm using this (and, consequentially, all of you) as a way to try and break my 'plan-everything-down-to-the-tiniest-detail' problem. **

**Big thanks to my beautiful twin, Emma (Emmy415) for reading this stuff before saying 'it makes total sense', so if it doesn't make sense to you it's all her fault (not really, though). Also, on a totally different note (ha ha, note…), my musical selections will often make no sense to the general public. It's pretty much whatever motivates me to write. Hell, some shit may even get used more than once. So, if it sounds right to you, fantastic. If not, sorry. I never claimed to be in possession of a 'full deck of cards', as my crazy grandma used to say. **

**Enough of this crap, though. On to the madness… **

Sing along to 'I Gotta Feeling' (BEP); 'Get It Poppin' (Fat Joe); Drinking in LA (Bran Van 3000 – Thanks, JAG!)

Chapter 2 – "Assassins on a Plane"

This was getting stranger by the minute.

First, I've got Charlie nearly peeing his pants in his excitement over my leaving for the States. He personally came to my rooms not long after Kate had helped me finish packing and inquired if I needed any further assistance. That alone would've been enough to bowl me over, but then I discovered that he wasn't going to sedate me for the trip, as he usually did. Instead, I was going by myself.

I recalled the last time Charlie and I travelled together, and it wasn't pleasant. It was one thing to not want me to have knowledge of where we were headed before we arrived, just in case. I understood that. But to knock me out with sedatives at the beginning of every assignment until we landed (or docked, whatever the case may be) had been getting really, really irritating. At that point, I had decided I was done with it.

"_I'm done with it. I'm not taking that." _

"_Yes, you are, Isabella. I will not have this assignment compromised because you don't want to feel left out."_

Charlie was an imposing man, to be sure, but I was putting my foot down about this. He had desensitized me to the point that his hulking figure no longer intimidated me, and his flat glares no longer had any effect whatsoever. He could blame this on my feelings all he wanted and nothing would change the fact that I was just plain fed up with being treated like a ragdoll.

"_This isn't about me feeling left out. This is about the fact that you need to learn to trust me at some point. I'm not sure why you just can't get over this feeling of having to have control over everyone you come in contact with."_

_I don't know why I was surprised by the sharp jab of a needle in my neck, but the familiar slide into unconsciousness rendered me unable to reply when I heard him say, "I trust no one, poppet, and neither should you." _

So, needless to say, it was pretty damn curious that he was putting me on one of the organization's private charter planes, _by myself, _as opposed to knocked the hell out in the back of a huge C-130 that probably had stains on the floor from all the times I vomited after the rocky landings would jostle me awake. But here I stood, on the tarmac of the Exeter International Airport, getting ready to board a beautiful Gulfstream V that was rounding its way out of one of the private hangars. The plane was elegant and sleek, a sparkling champagne color that faded into mottled patches of reds and oranges where the sunset reflected off the finish. It rolled to a smooth stop about fifty yards from where I stood, and I picked up my bags as an attendant rolled one of the boarding stairways into place. The door opened, and a very young-looking girl dressed in a tailored sheath almost the exact color of the plane itself stepped out onto the platform, bright-eyed and smiling despite the late hour. I approached the stairway and the airport attendant who had rolled the platform into place made to take my bags. I allowed him to take the larger rolling suitcase, but kept a firm hold on my case of medications and the tote bag I had thrown my files into. Best not to leave that to chance – everything had been going so smoothly so far tonight that my luck, I'd hand the case over and he'd drop it down the stairs. As I took the first step up, I looked back towards Kate. She remained standing where I had been, having accompanied me on the short drive to the airport. I raised my hand in farewell, and she did likewise. It would be hard, being away from her for such a long period of time, but I knew that I would be seeing her again soon enough, so I tried not to let the mild feeling of melancholy turn into anything deeper. It was very difficult for me to feel emotion at all, so usually when I did feel something I allowed it to grow as far as it would. It was rare enough to be novel, but not so much that I could enjoy feeling sad.

The flight attendant, who appeared even younger up close, ushered me into the cabin of the plane with a sweep of her hand. When she spoke, her voice was surprisingly strong for such a small frame.

"Welcome aboard your flight, Miss Swan. My name is Jane. May I take your case?" She reached a hand for the box I still carried.

"No, thank you, I'll stow it. I will have something to drink before we take off, if you have it available." I glanced around the cabin as I spoke. Nice. A girl could get used to this.

"Absolutely. Mr. Swan requested that no alcohol be served on board, but I can offer you anything else you'd like."

_No alcohol. Thanks, Charlie._ "I'll have a Ribena, if you've got it." She nodded in affirmation and headed toward the back of the plane, presumably to the galley to fetch my drink. I took the opportunity to really look around the cabin at what would be my surroundings for the fourteen hour non-stop flight. The interior was positively luxurious, with leather seating arrangements here and there, dark-stained wood mouldings and tabletops. It was very similar in feel to Charlie's offices, in fact, and I wondered if this was the plane that he used to travel. It was likely, and I supposed that he would expect me to show proper gratitude for the loaner when I returned.

Not a bloody chance.

I wended my way through the first grouping of seating areas, which consisted of captain's chairs stationed around small drop-leaf tables, to the long leather couch situated along the port side in the middle of the plane. Settling my case into a storage compartment directly opposite the couch, I sat down just as the attendant emerged from the curtained back area. She had a glass and napkin in one hand, and the bottle of Ribena in the other. I smiled as she sat the items down beside me on an end table, and she smiled back sweetly.

"Is there anything else I can get for you, Miss Swan?"

"No, that'll be all. I'll ring if I need you."

She inclined her head slightly towards me, in a bit of a mock bow, almost. I had to contain the snort that threatened to bubble up. How imperious of Charlie. He probably trained that little one there to fear him so much that she held anyone in his circle with a certain degree of reverence. It was almost ludicrous, the way that he held people in awe. I shook my head and kicked off my black flats, tucking my feet up underneath me and pulling the soft red chenille throw down off the back of the sofa and over my lap. I had dressed for comfort, after showering quickly before leaving home. I had been forced to allow my hair to air dry, and the lack of styling products left it flying around my face in its habitual semblance of not-quite-curly. Kate had tossed the clothing in to me, which I promptly countered with "I can dress myself, mama!", but secretly I was pleased that she still felt compelled to take care of me, even in this small degree. She had chosen a white long-sleeved knit tunic and black leggings, which despite the casualness of the outfit was probably as dressy as I got. I ended up getting pissed about my hair flying around on the way to the airport, so it was now gathered up on top of my head in something resembling a rat's nest.

Finally situated, I bypassed the glass Jane had sat next to me and picked up the bottle of Ribena. It was cold, and I was glad I could bypass ringing for a glass of ice. I took a long healthy swig, just staring off into space and enjoying the peace and quiet. After several minutes, the plane began to taxi down the tarmac towards the runway. Jane's lusty voice came over the loudspeaker, reminding me to buckle myself in and prepare for takeoff. It was then that I realized I couldn't remember the last time I had been sentient during takeoff, and I began to panic.

Oh shit. _Ohshitohshitohshitohshit._

I quickly placed my drink on the table long enough to pull myself into the captain's chair seated just forward of the sofa's domain. I grabbed the bottle back up and the glass as well, placing both on my lap between my legs as I snapped the buckle of my lap belt into place. My mouth was dry, but the thought of another sip of my drink was enough to make me feel slightly nauseous. Some vodka would not have been remiss right then, and I mentally cursed Charlie up one side and down the other as the plane suddenly stopped. I looked out the window next to me and saw that we were poised at the end of the long runway, and just as I pressed my forehead to the glass to try and see further in front of the plane, I was forced back into my seat as the plane's engines roared to life and we began moving forward at a startling pace. I allowed myself to go with the flow of gravity here, and pressed my head back into the chair's headrest, closing my eyes tightly as we moved faster and faster. I silently berated myself, because I knew it was stupid and that flying was safer than driving, not to mention I had flown quite a bit in the past. But it was a completely different experience when you were conscious, and I couldn't get past the fact that this massive machine, which should not be able to stay in the air due to its weight alone, was going to be hurtling me across the Atlantic and twenty five hundred miles of American soil.

As I clutched the armrests with white-knuckled fingers and my drink with my thighs, I could feel the nose of the plane lifting. I cracked my left eyelid enough to see the ground whizzing past me, black and orange runway markers blurring with the grass and concrete. Rather unceremoniously, the plane angled higher and the back wheels left the ground with a final jostle and bump. And then… we were floating.

I could still feel the pull of the earth, trying to keep as little space between my bum and its surface as possible, but the plane continued upward. Releasing my death grip on the chair, I flexed my fingers and rubbed my knuckles as I looked out the window, totally enthralled. Today had been gray until the last minutes before I boarded the plane, and now I could see the brilliant red sunset that once reflected off the plane reflecting off the waters of the English Channel. It was breathtaking. Suddenly dying of thirst, I grabbed my drink and took an unladylike gulp as my eyes remained glued to the scene unfolding before me. The plane was still climbing steeply, and I watched as the fingers of land below me grow smaller as the waters of the Atlantic began taking up more and more space. We passed through what remained of the cloud cover, and my vision was obscured by the fog for a few seconds. When we cleared the ever-present layer, I was in awe of what I could see.

I could see e_verything. _

We were chasing the sun with our westerly course, but I could already tell we were not going to be fast enough to keep up with it. Space hung above us as the plane leveled out, dark and mysterious. Myriad stars began making themselves known as the fading light from the sun moved further and further away. I had completely forgotten where I was and any fear of physics I was having until the pilot's voice came over the loudspeaker in slightly broken English. From the heavy accent, I assumed he was probably one of the Volturi's pilots from Italy.

"Good evening, Miss Swan. My name is Dmitri, and Felix and I will be flying you to San Diego tonight. Our expected flight time is about fourteen hours, but if the weather cooperates, we could make it in as little as twelve. Jane is at your service for the duration of the flight, and if you should need anything, please feel free to ring her.

"We are currently cruising at an altitude of 32,000 feet, travelling at 488 knots. It is currently eleven pm Greenwich time, and we will be arriving in San Diego at nine pm local time. Do you have any questions for us?"

I was so surprised at the fact that he expected me to answer that I stuttered a bit. "Uh, no. Thank you."

"Very good. We will turn off the intercom for now to allow you privacy, but if you need anything at all, just tap one of the call buttons located along the port side wall. Enjoy your flight."

The intercom turned off with a static-y click and in the sidebar across from the sofa, a seventeen-inch LED screen rose up out of the table-top. Displayed on the screen was an image of a plane on a map, with a red-dash trail behind it. Our beginning point was, of course, Exeter, and a green-dash trail extended from the front of the plane and ended in San Diego. How clever. Above the map were several statistics, including information Dmitri had already given me such as elevation and cruising speed. Flight time left was also displayed, and I noted that we were only about forty minutes into the journey.

The 'fasten seatbelt' sign had turned off as Dmitri turned off the intercom, and so I stood up to move back to the couch. My legs were still a little weak from holding myself so stiffly for so long. I shook them a little as I walked the few steps back, wiggling my toes and flexing my feet to get the blood flowing again. The carpet was soft and thick beneath my feet, and once again I wondered at how I managed to land something swanky and corporate as opposed to the usual military-grade. I lifted the red throw off the couch and sat back down, gathering up the things that had slid out of my tote bag when we took off. I had been in such a hurry to buckle myself in that I had failed to properly secure my other items. My small make-up kit and hairbrush went back into the bag, as did the wallet Kate had loaned me that contained my newly-minted US driver's license as well as several hundred dollars in cash. The large folder that had slid out I left on the sofa, and I eyed it warily as I traced the rim of my bottle with my index finger. I hadn't thought much more about the assignment, given the rush I had been in ever since the information came into my possession. Now, however, I was at leisure to review the dossier and I couldn't see any reason to put it off further.

Opening the thick folder, I smoothed over the worn front page just as I had earlier in Charlie's office. The dim lighting in the cabin threw every crease in the paper into stark relief, and I continued to trace the top of the bottle absently as I contemplated the list in front of me. An entire family. Sure, Charlie had told me that they were eager to see us dead themselves, but I had recently come of the opinion that not everything Charlie had told me was truth. I couldn't explain why I suddenly began feeling that way, but as I got older I began to really think about my position in life and how I had gotten here. I hadn't known anything else, as Charlie had pretty much already carved the course for me. Rebellion was something I never really gave serious thought to, but as I gazed upon this much-loved list of people, I wondered if it wasn't time to maybe think before pulling the trigger. There was a deeper motive than our organization's security here, and I wasn't coming up with anything satisfactory to explain it.

Flipping the list page up, I looked at the next. This one contained all the information pertaining to my flight, written in the same neat script as the names on the first page. I flipped this one over and was almost shocked when my eyes met two sets of bright, blazing green ones. There were two photos here, the first one of a man in the camouflaged garb of a United States Marine. His dark hair was cut short, and he was sitting atop the hood of a seven-ton truck in the middle of the desert, an M4 slung carelessly across his lap and a serious look upon his face as he gazed sideways out of the photo and into the distance. I could only assume this was taken in the Middle East somewhere, and immediately thought of the crossed off name on the list. _Emmett Cullen. _Poor fellow. The second photo on the page was the same man, but the only thing that gave it away was the similar structure of his face and the bright, beautiful eyes. This time he was smiling, his lips curving upward gently. He had dimples, and they lent a certain amount of boyish charm to the harsh lines of his face. His eyes were crinkled at the corners, and he looked genuinely happy here. His hair was much longer, too, a mess of many shades of brown, red, and everything in between. His lean arms were slung around a slight little thing, who was sporting an almost similar haircut and also smiling happily. I immediately felt terrible for Emmett and the girl he obviously loved, and was about to flip the page when a name in italics below the photos caught my eye.

_Edward Masen_

_date of birth: June 20, 1980_

Hmm. So this was target number one – the nephew. He didn't appear threatening, by any means. The picture of him in the desert might have given me pause, but the one of him with the girl had a more recent time stamp, so it appeared that his time home may have softened him up some. I read further down the page, my eyes darting back to the photos every so often. Charlie was always very thorough in his research, and this project was no exception. In fact, there might have been more information listed here than I'd ever seen on any of my previous targets. Nothing about Edward Masen was a secret to me now. He was born at Northwestern Memorial Hospital to Edward, Sr. and Elizabeth Masen. A strapping eight pound, twelve ounce baby, his medical records apparently remained clean throughout his childhood. Amazing. Charlie was really losing his mind here. Why this was relevant, I had no idea, but I read on anyway, entranced by the face in the photos. He excelled in music and linguistics as a child and a teen, and spoke fluent French, Italian and German as well as some Arabic. He played cello in his high school's symphonic band and apparently was on the drum line in the marching band, as well. That would have been something to see, I'm sure. I'd only seen marching bands as James flipped past the college football segments on ESPN, but never really paid much attention to them. I absently resolved to rectify that at my earliest opportunity.

Continuing down the page, I skimmed over the high school and collegiate academic records. I did note, however, that he graduated with a degree in biology from the University of Chicago, and had apparently applied with success to the school's medical program, although it appeared he did not actually attend. Instead, he enlisted in the US Marine Corps as an O-2, or First Lieutenant. Attended boot camp at MCRD San Diego, and entered Officer Candidacy School directly afterward. He served two and a half years straight in Iraq and Afghanistan, with only small periods of leave here and there. As I reached the bottom of the page, I saw that he was now home, having been medically discharged although no reason was listed. He was teaching world languages at UCSD and apparently living the life of your average university professor. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that I could see that would provoke Charlie's wrath. Until I saw the note at the very bottom of the page.

Scrawled underneath the last typed line, again in Charlie's tight writing, were the words 'government language specialist'. Well, fuck, Edward. I thought I was going to be able to let you off the hook.

I sighed, sliding my finger over the image of Edward and the unknown girl. I hated that I was going to be taking him from her, as they both looked so happy together. But, that was life, and you didn't always get what you deserved. No one knew that better than me.


	5. III: You Did What?

Chapter 3 – You Did What?

EPOV

I knocked softly on the library door before entering. Carlisle was within, still on the phone and he held up a finger to indicate he'd be just another minute. I nodded and settled myself in one of the new armchairs Esme had just had delivered. She had done an excellent job remodeling the massive 20's era house she and Carlisle had purchased in La Jolla, California. The library had originally been a bedroom, and seeing that there was no need for five bedrooms, Esme decided to make good use of the space. The arched floor-to-ceiling windows opened the room up to the bright blue waters of the Pacific, and quickly became my uncle's favorite room in the house. A large mahogany table dominated the room and was covered with his medical journals, as well as various files and a laptop that was set up to wirelessly access any government database in existence.

The journals were necessary for him to stay on top of the latest in medicine. The files were a mish-mosh of patients and targets. The government network access was part of another scheme, altogether.

The Cullen family had been operating very quietly for the US government for quite some time now. My father, who had taken his mother's maiden name when he came of age, worked diligently alongside Carlisle and their father to track down those who were considered a threat to national security. They were the best trackers on earth, able to find anyone, anywhere. My cousin Emmett and I had grown up with the great plan that we would join them on their quest one day, as top-secret government spies who saved our country on a regular basis and made the most of our legions of female followers. Of course, at the time we had no idea what we were getting into, and even now I wondered if it was worth it.

Emmett had been convinced it was, so I forced myself to trudge on.

I ran my hands through my hair, which was no better groomed than it had been when I woke up that morning, and leaned back in the chair. I sprawled my legs out and briefly deliberated propping my feet up on the coffee table in front of me when Carlisle's conversation caught my attention.

"Yes, that's fine. I need him out of the way as soon as possible. The situation is growing out of hand as it is." He paused. "Right." Another short pause, in which he took the opportunity to kick off his shoes and prop his stocking feet up on the table. I grinned and did likewise on the coffee table. He rolled his eyes at me and spoke again. "Money is not an object here. I can forward the advance today, and pay the rest upon completion. Yes. Very good. Send me the details of her travel arrangements and I will pick her up. All right, thank you."

He punched the off button on the cordless phone and laid it face down on the table. "You know, if your aunt catches you with your feet on her brand new coffee table, you're toast."

I snorted. "I don't think you have much room to talk, the way your wife is about her furniture." I lowered my feet and stood, stretching out and moving toward the table. I stood at an angle from Carlisle and drummed my fingertips on the table while flipping absently through the latest issue of the New England Journal of Medicine. "Alice said you wanted to see me?"

Carlisle lowered his feet and leaned forward, his forearms resting on the tabletop. "I did."

"Would it have anything to do with that phone call you were just on?"

"It would."

I flipped the magazine closed and tossed it back to the center of the table. "You gonna tell me about it, or sit here and play ping pong with me all day?" Actually, that was a great idea. After we got done discussing whatever it was he wanted to talk about, we could head up to the family room and go a couple rounds. It had been a while since we played, and I liked to make sure he remembered who was King Pong around here. My mind was drifting to strategy when he spoke again and fuck me, I was _not _prepared for the next words out of his mouth.

"Actually, yeah." He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his stomach. "I just hired someone to kill you."

*****

Ping pong strategy left me.

"Beg your pardon?" I couldn't have heard him right.

"You heard me. I just put out a hit on you." He grinned devilishly. "You'd better start running, little boy."

I hooked my leg around an adjacent chair and pulled it toward me, dropping into it. "Explain to me _why _you put a hit out on me without consulting me first?" I was beginning to recover from the initial shock and the snark was making a comeback, slowly. "I mean, Christ. If you were getting tired of my company, all you have to do is say so. Esme's not going to like the mess if it goes down here."

He laughed. "I'm glad you're taking this so well." He pulled a large folder off the top of a stack and tossed it toward me unceremoniously. "As you well know, Esme would kill _me_ if I killed you. So there will be no death or dismemberment here today. The contract is pretty much a front for something I'm going to really need your help on." He gestured toward the folder in front of me and I opened it. The first page on top was an old newspaper clipping, dated December 15th, 1993. Its bold headline jumped out at me immediately.

_**Husband and Wife Murdered; Daughter Gone**_

Port Angeles, December 13th – It was a Friday the Thirteenth nightmare come true for one family in the small Port Angeles neighborhood of Cherry Hill. Phil and Renée Dwyer were found brutally murdered in their home early Saturday morning. The couple's seven year old daughter, Isabella, has been reported missing. Officials have no leads at this time as to who could have perpetrated such a terrible crime, and there is no information at this moment leading to Isabella's whereabouts…

The article went on about the Dywer family and their role in the community. Phil had been a teacher at the local high school, as well as the athletic director. Renée was a writer for a locally-based magazine, and Isabella, or Bella, as her friends called her, had been a bright young child with a gift for music. I glanced at the grainy black and white photo of the family and felt a vague sense of recognition when I looked at Renée Dywer.

"This was sixteen years ago, Carlisle. I doubt we'd be able to track the girl down – she's probably dead, you know that. Her mother looks oddly familiar, though. Do we know the family?"

Carlisle sighed. He stood up, walking over to the wall opposite the bank of windows. He pulled a small silver photo frame down from the bookshelf there and brought it over to me. The photo in the frame was of the same family pictured in the newspaper article, this time standing together on a rocky beach. I looked up, confused.

He sat back down. "Renée Dwyer was born Renée Platt. She was Esme's sister."

_Whoa, back the damn truck up, Holmes. _

"What do you mean, her _sister_? Esme doesn't _have_ a sister." At least not one I'd heard about.

Carlisle leaned forward again on the tabletop. His fingers were laced together in front of his face and he was using his thumbs to rub either side of the bridge of his nose.

"Esme and Renée's parents were Lois and Clark Platt. They worked for the same government branch that the Cullens have always worked for. Clark and my own father were much more hands-on in the field than your father and I have ever been. The Alpha for our unit had just assigned them to an Italian-based organization known as the Volturi." He paused as recognition dawned on me. The Volturi were fucking horrible, no two ways about it. "Good, you recall them. At any rate, they had successfully tracked down the Volturi's most dangerous assassin, a man who had been carefully picking off our ambassadors in Europe at an alarming rate. His name was Charles Swan, and he was quickly becoming a major threat to the safety of our people overseas." He leaned forward further and pulled a couple pages out of the way, exposing an FBI info sheet on the aforementioned Mr. Swan. "The Alpha had no one readily available to send to Italy, and so Clark and Lois volunteered. Esme and Renée had come to stay with us while they were gone, and I was so excited. I had finally decided to ask Esme to wait for me, until she got out of high school." He smiled. "I had planned this big, romantic outing, and it ended up in disaster. But it worked."

Shaking his head and smiling at the memory, he continued. "I digress. So, the Platts traveled to Italy, to the Emilia-Romagna region, where they found Charles easily. He had been drinking heavily, Clark later told us, which made the entire incident go down much more smoothly. I don't know all the specifics, but the basics of it were that Charles ended up dead, and Lois and Clark returned to the States."

I had been flipping pages errantly now, listening to him tell me the story as I associated various paper clippings and photos in the file with the names he used. I turned another page. It was two obituaries.

"Charles had a son, whom he had been carefully training to replace him when he retired from the day-to-day operations. Charlie was a smart boy, by all accounts, although he was nowhere near his father's caliber." I read down the page. Lois and Clark Platt had been killed in their San Francisco home, survived only by their teenaged twin daughters and 'many close friends'.

"When the Platts were killed, measures were taken to place the girls in protective custody. Esme ended up with us, since she and I had come to an understanding of sorts. My parents never officially adopted her, although I know in their hearts they considered her, and Renée, their daughters. Renée was placed with another family, whom had no agency involvement and lived near Seattle."

I flipped back to the page detailing the Dwyer family's destruction. "So I take it Charlie successfully caught up to Renée?"

"Yes. No one told us where Renée had been sent, as the agency thought it was safest that the girls be separated and cut all contact with each other. It was so difficult for Esme, and I can only assume Renée found it just as hard. We were trying to track her down – it had been over ten years at that point since their parents had been murdered and since there had been no trace of Charlie since, we assumed that it would be alright. I only wish we had started sooner."

"So, let me get this straight. Esme had a sister, who is now dead. Her daughter went missing, presumably dead, and the man who did it has been off the radar for well over a decade now." I raked my hands through my hair, tugging it in frustration. I could not see where he was going with this, and I hated not being able to figure that shit out for myself. "Tell me what this has to do with my pending death, because I'm not seeing the connection here."

Carlisle looked at me in annoyance. "I never said that we presumed Isabella was dead, Edward. And Charlie is no longer 'off the radar'." He stood and walked to the windows, gazing out at the water. "That phone call you just overheard?" I nodded. "That was Charlie. And the agent he's sending to kill you for me?"

He turned, giving me The Look and I braced myself. It was the one he reserves for when whatever he's about to say is going to change the course of history, or some shit like that. That Look.

"It's Bella."


	6. IV: Smooth Landing

EPOV

"Esme."

My aunt set a heavy cast iron skillet down in the sink and turned towards me. She focused her gaze on her bare toes, which she was squishing into one of the many shaggy rugs she'd scattered throughout the house.

"He told you about Bella, didn't he?"

I sighed. "Yeah. How come you never told us about Reneé?"

Esme looked up at me, and I could see the shine of unshed tears in her eyes.

"Hey, don't cry." I rounded the marble-topped island and folded my arms around her slight figure. She sniffled once, then patted my chest and pushed away, gently.

"It's ok, Edward. I didn't tell you kids because I honestly had no idea if I'd ever see her again. I didn't know where she'd been sent, if she was happy, or if she was even still alive at that point." She sniffed again and pulled a tissue out of the box on the windowsill above the sink. Dabbing at her nose, she continued. "I only found out about her death because someone in the organization had been keeping tabs on the two of us, and had been ordered to keep our locations secret from each other. And honestly, I almost gave up on locating her, I was so frustrated." She tossed the tissue away and began on the skillet again, scrubbing furiously now. "I mean, it's not like Carlisle and I dropped off the face of the earth. We live less than twenty miles from where she and I grew up – how could she have so much trouble finding _me_?"

Her voice cracked again and I rubbed my hand across her shoulder blades. I felt terrible for her loss, but at the same time I was actually a little peeved that they had kept this information from us. Family was important, irreplaceable. Even when they no longer breathed, they still lived in us and once again I thought of Emmett. But as irritated as I might have been, I couldn't stand to see Esme upset, and so I brought up the one thing I knew would get her mind off of her sister.

"Carlisle asked me to help him with Bella, and I agreed."

She continued to scrub the pan, not yet distracted. "Good, good. I'm glad you're able to help. Does he have a plan yet?"

Boy, I was going to enjoy this.

"Yep."

My tone of voice must've given me away, because she stopped scrubbing and cocked an eyebrow at me. "Well?"

"He put a hit out on me."

_*Clank* _

"CARLISLE!"

*****

If I said that the scene that followed wasn't entertaining, I'd be lying.

In fact, I'm fairly certain that the neighbors, who were not close to us in any way, shape or form, could likely hear Esme ripping into her unsuspecting husband for the contract killing he took out on his nephew. Phrases like "How could you?!" and "What if she actually succeeds?!" could be heard clearly from the far edge of the pool patio, through the safety glass of the sliding door. I stood facing the ocean, smiling to myself as Carlisle did what he could to make the situation seem less dangerous to Esme. It shouldn't be too difficult, as it probably was not that dangerous at all. We'd get Bella here, explain to her what really happened, and then she'd be one of us, no worries.

This was going to be a piece of cake.

BPOV

It was pretty blissful to be able to complete a flight without the added ceremony of losing the contents of my stomach.

The flight staff had remained true to their word, allowing me my privacy on the plane as we travelled. Jane periodically popped in to check on me, but otherwise I was allowed to pass the time as I saw fit. I finished going through the dossier that Charlie had provided me with, carefully committing the information to memory. As it turned out, the immediate Cullen/Masen clan was extensive, and I wasn't entirely sure how I was going to manage to take out so many of them all together.

Emmett Cullen's portion of the file had been very brief, no more than just a page, no photograph, outlining his background and the circumstances behind his death in Iraq. The official cause of death was cited as 'enemy fire', but after Charlie's cryptic comment in his office I didn't believe that for one hot second.

Edward Masen still bothered me, as well. It wasn't that I didn't think I could kill him – I _knew _I could do that. But I was having difficulty remaining detached from him, for lack of a better word. The images of him, especially the one of him with the little black-haired girl, were oddly compelling. They ignited the one ache within me that I had never wanted to feel again - jealousy. I didn't like it. Romance and love were not something that I ever expected to experience in my lifetime, especially given my profession, so what did it matter that someone else had found it?

Eventually, I fell asleep on the couch. When I woke, the endless dark waters of the Atlantic had given way to land, and to our south I could see the bright lights of a moderately-sized city. I looked at the map on the screen and saw that we were passing just north of Cincinnati, Ohio. This was the farthest inland I had ever been in the US, and there were still about four hours left in our flight. I checked my watch and compared it to the time displayed on screen. We had left Exeter at about nine tonight, and according to my watch it was now five in the morning. I glanced back at the screen and noted that Eastern time was five hours behind Greenwich, but according to the arrival time displayed, Pacific time was three hours further behind. Rolling around the math in my head, I concluded that in reality, my twelve hour flight would actually take about four. I understood Charlie's reasons for wanting to get me to San Diego so quickly, but I couldn't even begin to guess why Carlisle Cullen would be in such a huge hurry.

*****

The small airport in La Jolla, California, was almost invisible at night. If it weren't for the lit control tower and the twin strips of runway lighting, I would have never seen it. Our landing was uneventful, and infinitely better than the almost-crash-landing one routinely experiences in a C-130. The plane taxied smoothly over toward an empty hangar, and Jane reappeared as the airport crew outside began preparing for us to unload. She looked about as fresh and put together as she did when I first saw her twelve hours ago, and it made me feel like ten kinds of disgusting. She smiled and bid me a good morning in her chipper sex-voice, and I nodded in her general direction as I focused on retrieving my tote and medicine case.

As I stepped off the plane, I noted that the sleek black Mercedes idling at the edge of the tarmac was exactly what I had been expecting to see.

The man who came with it was not.

Apparently, Carlisle Cullen himself decided to come and get me at whatever unholy hour it happened to be, and it surprised me. I was a contractor; a faceless name or a nameless face, whichever suited my employer best at the time. Most preferred the faceless name option – the harder it was to pick me out of a line up, the better. Although, the day I ended up in a line up would be my last… my father would see to that.

Carlisle Cullen lounged against the hood of his car, one leg crossed carelessly over the other, arms folded, head down. He almost looked to be dozing, and I assumed he was until I was about ten feet away. His head immediately shot up and he had the look of one who was fully aware. I suppose that being a physician gave you enough practice that one might perfect the art of resting anywhere, at any time. His gaze was gently scrutinizing, as if he were trying to map and memorize the features of my face. Normally this would have made me beyond uncomfortable, for the obvious reasons, but in this moment I knew nothing more than the dissatisfaction that I would obviously not be as anonymous as I would like on this assignment.

I straightened myself up as much as possible, mentally pepping myself and held out my empty hand. "Isabella Swan."

Contrary to the soft smile on the blonde man's face, my hand was suddenly encased in a warm, steely grip. "Carlisle Cullen. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Isabella." His free hand cupped my elbow and directed me toward the front passenger door of the car. I sat my case on the ground, in order to relieve myself of my tote so that I could properly stow them, and noticed out of the corner of my eye that Carlisle was eyeballing the shiny case with a look of thinly veiled disgust. I briefly wondered if he had some idea of what was in there. Doubtful. I could see Carlisle mentally shaking himself off as he moved to my right and opened the door for me.

"In you go, Isabella. I'll brief you on the way home." His use of the word 'home' surprised me – he couldn't possible mean to take me to his _home_, could he? That would make things all too easy. As I pondered this new development, Carlisle exchanged words with the man who had loaded my things – Laurent, I think his name was – and then slid into the driver's seat. Closing his own door, Carlisle slid down into his seat slightly. The relief that suddenly overcame the car was palpable, like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. I imagined that was probably the case – no one was better at what I did than I was. I did not think he'd feel as much relief if he knew my hit list had been expanded, though.

He broke the silence as he put the car into gear. "I'm very pleased to have you with us. There are things we want to discuss with you that we really could not with your father. You understand." He deferred his attention directly to me. It didn't seem to bother him that his eyes were not on our surroundings, as we hit the highway and the pavement flew past us upwards of 90 miles per hour. Well, if he felt he knew what he was doing, then I wouldn't say a word. I could walk away from just about anything. Just about.

"That's not a problem, Carlisle. I am accustomed to my patrons remaining secretive."

He snorted at that. "Patrons. Please, Isabella, don't think of me as a patron."

I smiled to myself. _Not the time to tell him he's actually a mark. _"Well, what should I refer to you as? You hired me to complete a job. You're my patron. My client. My- "

He laughed out loud now, a rich, melodic sound that was more genuine than anything I'd heard in years. "No, I think you can end right there. If you have to label me, I suppose 'patron' is better than most of the alternatives." His attention returned to the road, and I allowed myself to relax a bit. I didn't like that he was paying so much attention to me. I kept reminding myself that when I was finished here, the fact that he was personally familiar with me would be moot, but it was still… weird, I suppose. I froze when his right arm raised suddenly, then chided myself for reacting so suspiciously. We were in a car. He hired me to kill his nephew. He wasn't going to off me before I could do the job. Although, he may have heard the news. Ugh. Fuck Charlie. This was way too complicated.

After finding a station he was happy with, he settled back into his seat and propped his left arm up on the door. I glanced sideways out of the corner of my eye and I could tell he looked sleepy. I decided that a little pre-game info might be helpful, not only for my side of things, but to help keep him awake enough to get us to our destination.

"So, Carlisle, tell me a little about Edward."


	7. V: Finally There

**A/N: Our favorite little assassin is finally reaching her destination. Sorry if this has dragged on… I've kind of been banging my head against the biggest fucking writing cockblock, ever. But a HUGE thanks to all of you who are following this story now, and those of you who have left some pretty awesome reviews. You make me smile and I need that shit. **

**I also realize I forgot my playlist last chapter. Not that it really signifies, but I myself like to know what people are listening to, so I'm forcing my musical selections on you, too.**

**You're welcome.**

**Songs to sing along to:**

**Can't Stop – Maroon 5**

**Konstantine – Something Corporate (this will actually be a little more significant next chapter)**

Chapter 5 - Finally There

I drilled Carlisle relentlessly for about fifteen minutes, demanding the details of Edward's daily routine. He was very forthcoming, which was helpful. Edward worked from the early morning til early afternoon at the university. He read voraciously, played some guitar occasionally, and was apparently an excellent table tennis player. He swam to stay in shape and did not speak much of his days in the military, or his deceased cousin. He rose very early, retired quite late, and had an affinity for chocolate, which I could appreciate.

I dozed off on the thought that if I didn't have to kill these people, we'd get along just fine.

*****

I awoke to the sound of gravel crunching under the tires of the car. Normally, I wouldn't sleep in transit, with the exception of Charlie's affinity for keeping me coked, simply because the need to know my surroundings at all times had literally been beaten into me. But the fact that I had missed my last dose of medication, along with the seductive lull that a car with wonderful suspension provides, was my undoing and I dozed off without hesitation. Certainly the familiarity and comfort I felt with Carlisle Cullen had something to do with it, as well. But I didn't want to dwell on that little nugget longer than necessary. It wasn't good for someone in my line of work to let their guard down. Chaos generally ensued when that happened, and I was fairly certain that was probably his goal. It didn't escape me that I was in a fairly good position to get killed, myself. Charlie might be an ass on occasion, but when it came to my personal safety, he generally didn't steer me wrong.

Sitting up and stretching out needlessly, I glanced out of the tinted windows and had to hide my surprise and sheer _pleasure_ at the structure we stopped in front of. Usually when I was hired on, I was taken to the headquarters of whatever organization had requested my services. When I needed sleep, I made do with whatever accommodations I could find, did my thing and got out. I was one efficient bitch that way. This, however, was something completely different and even though he had told me where we were headed, I couldn't help but swipe at my chin, in case I had drooled.

The white stucco structure in front of me was… _a home. _I've been to houses before that had been converted for different uses, and none of those had any sort of impact on me. They were buildings, places of business for this nasty underworld that I crawled through on a daily basis. Hell, I lived in something similar to that. _This _place was different. There were spidery looking plants hanging from unseen supports attached to the outer wall and lit by large ornamental lamps that dotted the top of the wall. A large wooden bench sat comfortably near the aged wooden door. Its bench was covered with brightly covered pillows that were oddly tempting. Various flowering shrubs, roses and the like, were vying for attention in the small expanse of well-manicured lawn leading up from the driveway. A pair of small bicycles lay willy-nilly in the grassy area before the stone path, and I briefly wondered at that. The house itself was enormous, surrounded by this outer wall and very reminiscent of a Spanish casa I had once visited. I didn't know all the terms and phrases to use to describe it, even to myself. Even in the darkness, it was just… beautiful. I felt a small ache in my chest, but immediately squashed it down and steeled myself as Carlisle opened my door.

"Welcome to our home, Isabella. I hope that you will be comfortable during your stay with us." He was eyeballing me critically. Why, I have no idea. It wasn't like I couldn't be polite when the situation called for it.

"Thank you. Your home is lovely." I couldn't help but look over the back of the car, toward the drive from which we came. My gaze skimmed over the surrounding area to make note of one of the things I _did_ know very well – how to get the fuck out.

The gravel wended its way back through the soaring palm trees and wild vegetation that shielded the house from view of the road. Listening intently, I could hear the occasional car moving along the motorway in the distance, probably about six miles or so to the east. From the west, I could hear the sound of crashing waves. Turning toward the sound, I was surprised to see that the house sat practically on the edge of a cliff overlooking the Pacific. Nocturnal animals foraged through the underbrush. Someone moved within the house, coming towards us, quietly opening and closing doors along the way. A normal person might not be able to discern these things, and I was almost certain that unless they were hiding something from me, the Cullens certainly wouldn't be able to hear what I could. It was crucial that I knew all my options, no matter how genuinely nice these people seemed. Situations could change at the drop of a hat.

It took me barely more than ten seconds to mentally map the terrain, and as I turned back towards the house I realized that Carlisle had grabbed my suitcase, my tote and my silver bandbox. I rushed forward, knowing that he needed no help as far as the weight of the items were concerned, but taking the shiny tote from him anyway.

He said nothing, almost as if he knew. The contents of this case, no matter how loathed, were beyond precious to me. They kept me alive.

Looking once more at the band box with a bit of disgust, Carlisle reached toward me with one arm while waving at the house in a welcoming gesture. "Come, let's get you inside and settled. Then, once everyone has awoken and gone about their business, we can go over the details of your assignment."

*****

Having won that small battle, I loosed my grip on the case and carried it by its handle toward the wooden door nestled in the wall. Carlisle reached it first and pulled it open. I was surprised that he did not keep it locked, although I suppose with the wall being only seven or eight feet in height, that a locked door would do little to deter an intruder.

As we entered the dark courtyard, I took in my surroundings. The house itself was L-shaped, with its sides meeting to form the corner forward and to my right. The deck area was actually comprised of terra cotta tile, giving way to cedar decking here and there. The area was sleepily set for outdoor dining, with furniture comprised of cedar, as well. Tables were topped with dormant umbrellas, their colors matching those of the bench pillows I had seen outside.

The real feature of the courtyard, however, was the infinity pool that comprised the greater part of the area. Almost black in the darkness, the quiet shush of the water over the edge of the pool was relaxing. I could see that this family loved this area and made the most of it.

I briefly wondered who'd get the property when they were gone. I certainly wouldn't mind living here.

While I had been musing and taking in the darkened scenery, Carlisle had walked on ahead of me. As he neared the corner of the courtyard that led to the entrance to the house, the wide, glass-paneled wooden doors opened, and a tiny figure in an old-fashioned nightgown stepped out. Seeing that she greeted Carlisle with a kiss, I assumed this was Esme, the remaining Platt sister. After greeting her husband, she promptly scooted him aside and came towards me. Gliding gracefully around the edge of the pool, avoiding furniture and potted plants, she was suddenly right in front of me. From a distance, she had looked small, but once she was next to me I could see we were similar in height. Much to my surprise, she reached toward me with both hands. I offered mine in return, having no idea what to expect, and was surprised for the millionth time that day when she pulled me forward and down to plant a kiss on each cheek. I'd never had more contact than a handshake with anyone other than Kate and my trainer for as long as I could remember, and it took everything I had to keep my breath from hitching. A minute in this woman's presence brought out feelings I hadn't had in a long time and I wasn't sure I liked it much.

"Call me Esme, dear. Why don't you come inside with me and I'll show you to your room." Still grasping my free hand, she pulled me forward and we started towards the house. "Carlisle, bring Bella's bags." She winked at me as Carlisle sighed and smiled at her. I dutifully followed Esme indoors, feeling silly and completely childish as I still held her hand. We turned left as we entered the house and she led me down the dim hallway to a door directly at the end that sat slightly propped open. Pushing the door wide, she stood aside and allowed me to enter first.

"This will be your room while you are staying with us. I hope that it will be alright, as the other spare bedrooms are in use at the moment. Everyone has sort of convened for your arrival." She smiled sweetly, obviously pleased to have a full house of people to look after.

I stood just inside the doorway, taking in the air and light that made up this space. I'd worked in many places, from the lowliest of slums to the grandest of royal houses. None of it impressed me, and after my little meltdown earlier, I felt like I should have expected to be moved by this room. The floor to ceiling double set of curved French doors that made up the entire exterior wall was incredible, bringing the dark ocean outside into the bedroom. The furniture was handsomely made and the light, sandy color of the wood made me wonder if perhaps the Cullens had commissioned someone to go collect the materials from the beach below the house. It all matched, _perfectly. _The walls were a soft creamy color that glowed in the light from the bedside lamp, and the bed itself was covered in a fluffy cover the likes of which I had not ever experienced myself. It was a cloud of my favorite shade of green, all hazy and welcoming. I'd never, ever had the urge to flop, but I wanted to now. Badly.

This place was doing fucked-up things to my psyche.

I turned back to Esme, placing my case on the foot of the bed. _Need to lock that sucker up right quickly. _She was watching me expectantly, waiting for my response. I actually had to clear my throat to speak. "It's lovely. Thank you."

She beamed. "It's no problem, my dear. You are more than welcome to anything here. She floated past me and began pointing out the various features of my current home-away-from-home.

"You can place your things in your closet, which is here." She touched a doorknob as she passed by it, indicating the closet. "Your bathroom is through this door here, and it is fully stocked. Let me know if there is anything you need." She pushed the door to the bathroom open enough for me to garner a glance at a glass shower enclosure, and again, more windows than I would possibly be comfortable stripping in front of. Sensing my unease, she gestured towards the windows in the bathroom. "All of the windows here are one-way glass. You can see out, but no one can see in." She smiled. "We like our sunshine here."

Esme made her way back around the bed and to the door of my room. She turned and studied the room absently, as if to check that she had covered everything. "I am sure you'd like some time to freshen up and rest after your trip. Carlisle and I are planning on heading back to bed, but I usually rise around seven or so to make breakfast. Do you need anything?"

I wasn't prepared for this level of hospitality, but I assumed that she would know that so I didn't mention it. "No, thank you. I think I can manage. I've definitely endured worse than this, Esme." I smiled, intending the statement as a joke but sobered as I saw her face fall momentarily. She'd been so kind to me, but surely Carlisle gave her some sort of credible explanation as to why I was here without being too grandiose. I wasn't here to be pampered as an honored guest, or even a close family friend.

I was here to kill.

*****

Esme had recovered her composure enough to smile convincingly as she quietly closed the door to my room behind her. I quickly walked over and silently turned the lock on the knob. I needed time to arrange my things, but did not want her to hear me locking them out. I, however, could hear the hustle and bustle of nighttime around us. The waves continued their rhythmic cadence against the shore, and I could still hear an animal outside. It sounded as if it were about the same size as the one I'd heard outside the courtyard, so I thought nothing of it. I checked to make sure the outer doors were locked, then went to the door Esme had indicated lead to the closet. Flipping on the switch outside the door, I was pleased to see that there was solid cherry shelving suitably high enough for my equipment. Unzipping the suitcase Carlisle had left on my bed, I pulled my small weapons case out from underneath the clothing. I checked the toggle to make sure it was still properly locked, and slid the entire monstrosity onto the very highest shelf. I assumed that the small bikes outside belonged to children who were frequent visitors to the area, and I didn't know what kind of access they had to the house. I hadn't known I would be in the presence of wee ones when I was preparing to come, and even though I really couldn't relate with the need to have little ones of my own, I would feel terrible if something happened to these unknown children because of my negligence. I stepped back into the bedroom and placed one hand on the bedspread in order to reach the other side of the wide bed for my case. My body immediately sunk a good ten centimeters into the bedding, and I gasped as I nearly lost my balance. Grabbing the case, I pulled it toward me, rustling the covers in the process. I lifted the case, hugging it to my chest once again; all the while staring at the bed like it was pure evil. I was so torn between doing what I needed to do and just giving in to the urge to jump on the bed like a loon. With a resigned sigh, I turned back to the closet and went inside, sitting the metal case on the small cabinet to the left of the door. Checking my watch, I noted that I had completely missed my last dose, and that it was actually time for the next one. I fished a tiny silver key out of my pocket and inserted it into the lock on the front of the case. The mechanism inside quietly snicked, and the lid popped slightly as the pressure from the lock was released. I pushed the top back on its hinges and removed the top layer of black foam padding. Multiple pre-filled ampules of medication lay inside, as well as vials of saline and a package of syringes. To the unknowing outsider, this might look like a narc addict's dream. To those in the know, it was something entirely different. It was my lifeline.

Grabbing clean black yoga pants and a black t-shirt out of my duffle, I slid my travel-worn clothing off onto the hardwood floor and picked up the first amp of medication. Filling an empty syringe first with saline, then with the medication, I shook the capped syringe to mix the two and popped the cap off with my teeth. I sighed and jabbed the tiny needle into the flesh of my outer thigh, thus beginning my daily ritual.

**Hmm... what kind of fucked up stuff is our girl up to? And when is she finally going to meet her first target? **

**Find out, next time... on Bella Undercover. *wink***

**PS - big thanks to my partner in crime (and other things), Sue, aka Roselover24. Follow her on Twitter. She's a funny bitch. **


	8. Important Info for all 15 of you

Hey guys, sorry for the delay. Once again, RL strikes. It's terrible.

Anyway, I've made an executive decision to move Bella Undercover to its own blog. There are pictures up, and a playlist. My reasons for this move are varied and mostly unimportant, but mainly it's due to the fact that there's been so much trouble with fanfiction(dot)net lately and I like having license to play around a little more with the posts.

So, without futher ado, you can scoot yourselves over to bellaundercover(dot)blogspot(dot)com. Chapter six is currently in the works and hopefully will be up soon.

If you care enough to comment, let me know what you think about the new digs.

Ciao.

Gia


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